


Punch Drunk (working title help me)

by Criminally_Capricious



Category: Klaus (2019)
Genre: M/M, Minor Injuries, Sailmail, i edited it a bit though, mogens ruining the moment, writing prompt from Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:54:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22247428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Criminally_Capricious/pseuds/Criminally_Capricious
Summary: Jesper just wants to run his errand in town without getting caught up in another clan battle. Mogens wasn't so lucky, apparently. Jesper doesn't care. Really, he doesn't.
Relationships: Jesper Johanssen/Mogens
Comments: 14
Kudos: 126





	Punch Drunk (working title help me)

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Whumpster-Dumpster on tumblr - This Prompt

It had taken almost eight months, but Jesper was finally starting to get used to Smeerensburg.

Well.

He had come to understand that there was a knack for avoiding trouble, at least.

The tension between the Krums and Ellingboes had something of a tidal quality - flowing from underlying resentment to simmering hatred to all-out brawling in the streets, before ebbing back into resentment again, like a wave breaking on the shorehead.  
It was easy now, to spot a battle brewing, and when he did he tried to avoid the town as much as possible to minimise his chances of being caught in the crossfire -- unfortunately, he had little choice today.

The clans had been riling each other up into a frenzy all week and it was only a matter of time before the dam burst, judging by the screaming matches that broke out almost daily, but Jesper had run out of lamp oil that morning and was determined to resupply before the real fighting began, so he found himself creeping gingerly through the town square, not daring to make eye contact with anyone in case they took it as a reason to pick a fight, and hoping to god that no one tried to kill him.  
  
It was dark, as it usually was this time of year despite it only being late afternoon, and he took a tiny measure of comfort in the idea that his uniform might help him blend into the gloom if he had to make a stealthy getaway. The only place he knew of to buy lamp oil was just to the east of the square, past a small ale house with a precarious tilt and one boarded up window, and as he passed through the yellow light spilling from between the slats he could hear the low, angry buzz of voices inside begin to rise to a roaring argument, and he didn’t dare linger to eavesdrop.  
  
He picked up his pace. Maybe he could be in and out of the General Supply with his oil fast enough to bypass what sounded like a 30 man brawl in the making.  
  


* * *

  
  
From the square to the store usually took five minutes, but jesper made in in two and a half. He hadn’t even waited for his change, just threw his coins on the counter and muttered his thanks over his shoulder on his way out the door again, but as he approached the ale house with his fingers crossed, he realised that he’d hoped in vain - sure enough, the argument had become a brawl.  
He slowed to a stop, watching as amid roars of anger a man’s head broke through the wooden slats covering the window - light spilled out onto the snow and the sound of breaking glass was clear now. The man, red-haired, groaned and lay draped over the sill for a moment, before being yanked back into the fray and out of sight.  
  
He would have to find another way back up the hill - he didn't want to risk passing by right at the moment that the drunken men decided to take their fight to the street.  
  
Making a neat about-turn on his heel, Jesper had already set off at a fast clip when the sound of the door bursting open startled him into turning back, heart in his throat.  
Two figures tumbled out into the snow, on on top of the other. They hit the ground hard, and before he could continue his hasty retreat, he heard a strained voice.  
  
“Jesus _Christ_ , you’re on my lungs here”

That voice was familiar. Very familiar in fact.  
  
Shocked into stillness, Jesper watched as the man on the ground grabbed the man on top of him - who was limp as a ragdoll - by the shoulders and heaved him off, letting him land in a heap in the snow. He then picked himself up, staggered a few steps to lean on the wall and spat on the ground by his feet. By the yellow light coming through the window, it was unmistakably Mogens.  
  
He must have made some kind of sound, because Mogens raised his head and looked right at him then, squinting to see him in the low light. Jesper could make out the grin that spread across his face quite well. He quickly looked away and began walking fast, hoping not to give the ferryman a chance to catch up, but after a moment or two he heard the crunch of footsteps hurrying after him.  
  
“Hey! Postman!”  
  
He ignored the call and clutched his bottled lamp oil to his chest. Maybe he could use it to set the man on fire.  
Mogens caught up to him quickly, wheezing slightly.  
  
“Do you treat all your friends so rudely?”  
  
his voice was nasally, like he had a bad cold.  
  
“We aren’t friends” Jesper reassured flatly, refusing to look at him.  
  
In the corner of his eye he saw Mogen’s exaggerated gestures anyway as he put a hand to his chest, clutching at his heart.  
  
“You wound me, Postie, really. I’m hurt. I visit you every week to make sure you haven’t hung yourself from the rafters, and you say we aren’t friends.” even his sigh was laden with sarcasm. “I thought we had something special!”  
  
Jesper scoffed at the thought.  
  
“You make me want to hang myself from the rafters, you know that?”  
  
“Aw, flatterer.”  
  
Mogens arm draped over his shoulder so suddenly that he jumped.  
  
Scowling only slightly petulantly, Jesper went to shove the arm off but Mogens only squeezed firmly, drawing Jesper down to his side for a second in a one-armed hug and laughing as Jesper fumbled his footing.

“I will find a way to kill you” he muttered, bent awkwardly with half of his face pressed against Mogen’s shoulder “and i will make it look like an accident.”  
  
“Promises promises. What brings you down from your castle today then? Doing your rounds? Someone order a special delivery?”  
  
Finally wriggling out of his grasp, Jesper turned to deliver a scathing reply, but stopped with his mouth half open. Mogens met his eyes and waited for a moment, before quirking a brow.  
  
“What happened to your face?”  
  
From a distance he hadn’t been able to tell, but now that he was looking Mogens directly it was clear that he had been caught up in the brawl. His lip was split and beginning to swell, and there was blood dripping down his chin into the neck of his sweater. There was blood under his nose too, and a red graze on his cheekbone just below his right eye --  
  
“Is that glass?”  
  
Several tiny specks glittered in the wound as Mogens grinned lopsidedly at him.  
  
“Probably, yeah. I hit a table on the way out”

“With your _face_?”

“With my face.”

Jesper stopped again, staring incredulously at the ferryman who paused as well, watching him with half lidded eyes. His lip was still bleeding sluggishly, but at least the dark stain on the collar of his sweater was relatively small. An unusual thrill of outrage surprised him and he blinked. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about, no, _dreamed_ about hitting Mogens himself, punching him right in his smug mouth - but for some reason, seeing the aftermath of someone actually doing it made him feel --  
  
\--he didn’t know how it made him feel.

“Something wrong, sport?” Mogens asked, as he wiped some of the blood from under his nose.

He realised he had been standing staring for several long, awkward moments.

Shifting his lamp oil to the crook of his elbow Jesper suddenly stepped in close, reaching out with his other hand to rest his fingers lightly on the curve of Mogen’s jaw, ignoring his aborted flinch.  
When he pressed lightly, Mogens rolled his eyes and tilted his head, letting Jesper get a good look at the raw skin.

“It’s just a scratch, sweetheart - don’t get gooey on me.”

He was facing away and voice was low, their faces so close together he could probably feel Jespers breath warm his cheek as he murmured back;

“You should get that looked at.”

Mogens cold fingers found Jespers, and he gently pulled his hand away so he could turn and meet his eye.

“You’re looking at it right now, aren’cha?”

He didn’t release Jespers hand right away, still cupping it in his own, and for a moment Jesper didn’t know what to do - the moment felt intimate in the dark afternoon, cloistered in the quiet street with the muffled sounds of the ongoing brawl only just audible now far behind them, and Mogens wasn’t moving to step away from him. A wild and completely insane notion crossed his mind...if he leaned in just a little further --

\--what would it feel like to kiss the man?

And then Mogens winked salaciously and waggled his eyebrows at him, and the moment was ruined.  
  
Snatching his hand back, Jesper hurriedly put some distance between them again.

“I meant by a doctor, and you _aren’t funny,_ stop laughing.”

It would probably have tasted like blood anyway.

* * *

Mogens walked with him the rest of the way to the post office, and although he tried several times to make it clear he was fine on his own, he was slightly glad to have him there.

To watch his back of course, he told himself. No other reason.

He had tried to ask about the fight in the bar, but the man had shrugged lightheartedly and brushed it off as being in the wrong place at the wrong time.  
He had only gone to get a drink, he said, and right as he was about to stand up and leave to avoid the brewing argument all hell broke loose.

“It is what it is” he said as they made their way up the last leg of the hill.

“Not the first time, won’t be the last - good thing I’m well padded, you’d have snapped like a twig if Erik had landed on top of _you_ , he’s built like a sack of bricks.”

When they reached the porch, Mogens stopped at the steps as Jesper went to unlock the door. The lock clicked and Jesper swung it open, hesitating at the threshold. He turned to look at the ferryman, who was watching him with a raised eyebrow again.

“Would you like-” he stopped, took a second to reevaluate his life choices, and began again.

“You should come in so we can take a look at your face. Your cuts, I mean.”

The split second of surprise on the Ferrymans face was a novelty, even if it was quickly replaced with a customary nothing-phases-me smile.

“Well, it would be rude to say no to a friend, wouldn't it?”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


End file.
